


Dog in the Manger

by Luka



Series: University AU [8]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 19:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19215955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Lester is reading one of the lessons at the CMU carol service - but events don't go as planned.





	Dog in the Manger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rain_sleet_snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/gifts).



> A Primeval Denial Secret Santa for rain_sleet_snow, who asked for:   
> Christmas Eve, and all through the house, nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.  
> They watch the way I walk/cause I walk with a vengeance  
> Where there’s smoke there’s fire  
> The holly and the ivy
> 
> The story includes the final two – and you should blame ideas planted in impressionable brains by fredbassett for some of the goings-on here! Thanks to her for the use of her OCs: Ditzy (Dave), Blade (Niall), Kermit (Darren), Finn (Rob) and Norman, and for Normanising the dialogue! Cara and Davy are my OCs. 
> 
> The story is part of rain_sleet_snow's university AU series which she kindly lets me play in. For those new to it, Lester is deputy vice-chancellor at CMU, Ryan the head of security, Lorraine an economics lecturer, Sarah an Egyptology PhD candidate, Jenny the university's PR guru, Claudia is head of Quality Assurance and Becker is a librarian.

Sarah grabbed her glass of white wine just before mad Professor Cutter's fist made contact with the pub table. Lorraine was a moment too late and spent the next few minutes passing tissues around to those who'd been too slow to avoid the small tsunami of drinks.

"I'm no' going to any carol service! It's all bloody fairytales."

"Of course it is. But we're going mob-handed," said Dave Owen.

"We want to support James, who's doing one of the readings," said Lorraine.

Sarah suppressed a smile. Lorraine had no more religious belief that Cutter, but was fiercely loyal to her friends. Everyone knew that James Lester had a barely-concealed soft spot for her, given she brought a healthy dose of commonsense to university committees, so it was hardly surprising she felt obliged to be there.

"Well, you can count Stephen and me out."

There was an apologetic cough and they all turned to look at the dreamy Stephen Hart, who rarely opened his mouth.

"Um, I promised Tom I'd go."

Cutter looked like his partner had just kicked his new puppy. "But Stephen, it's all mumbo-jumbo …"

"I know it is, but …" Stephen's cheekbones turned a fetching shade of pink.

"I suppose that idle turd of a vice-chancellor is off skiing again," snapped Cutter.

Ryan nodded. "You don't have to come, Professor, if it's against your beliefs. But I'm going to support James. And we both appreciated Stephen saying he'd go as well."

"What about me?" said Niall. "I'm reading a passage as well. And I used to be a choir boy."

When the howls of laughter had abated, and Jenny had pacified a decidedly miffed Niall, Ryan said: "I didn't know you were religious."

Niall favoured him with a scornful stare. "Don't be soft. Each faculty sends someone every year, and I drew the short straw this time. And this is the Church of England - there's no religion involved. They do good mulled wine and mince pies afterwards, then we all bugger off for a curry."

"And we have to check out the new priest," said Emily. "He rides a motorbike. Very dishy."

"Him or the motorbike?" asked Dave, and was rewarded with a clip around the ear from Hilary Becker for his pains.

Sarah reckoned the new priest, the Rev Ben Calvert, looked like the folk singer Seth Lakeman - even down to the powerful thighs. Not that she could ever go and see the hunky Mr Lakeman play live again after an unfortunate incident when a gay male friend of hers had caused consternation by bawling out: "Seth, I want to have your babies!" just when the music had stopped. The singer had gone scarlet, and Hal had been bundled away by his very embarrassed partner.

Cutter spluttered and muttered some more, but everyone ignored him and made arrangements to meet in the refectory beforehand.

*~*~*~

Sarah had been to the previous year's carol service because some of the overseas PhD candidates had wanted to go, and she'd felt a bit mean letting them go by themselves. The chapel, part of the old gothic teacher training college which predated CMU, was covered in ivy and had been decorated cheerfully by youngsters from the creche. The gathering had sung carols lustily under the benevolent eye of the Reverend Stanley Mann - known to all and sundry as Stan the Man - then adjourned to the meeting room next door for mulled wine and mince pies. Sarah had gathered from a very chatty Geography administrator that in reality it was just another university social occasion with very little religion attached. The only people who invariably expected a spiritual occasion - and who were invariably disappointed - were the theology department's swivel-eyed evangelists.

Sarah didn't have a religious bone in her body, despite the best endeavours of her scary grandmother. But she'd liked Stan the Man. Earlier in the year, he'd found her huddled in one of the stacks in the library, crying her eyes out and sick with worry over Lorraine, who'd been the target of anonymous letters. He'd marched her off to the refectory and bought her a huge mug of hot chocolate, topped with cream.

"I'm not religious," she'd snivelled. "And my partner's a woman."

"So?" Stan had said. "If I only counselled religious folk, I'd be working half a day a week. And I used to be in the army, so nowt surprises me. Now get that drink down you and we'll see what we can do."

Stan had listened to her blurting out her worries. At the end, he'd said thoughtfully: "I'll have a word with young Tom Ryan. He's a sound lad. And you know you should go to the police."

Sarah had nodded. "Tom knows, and he's been brilliant. And I suppose I should."

"I can come with you if you like."

"Thanks, Mr Mann. I'll be fine."

"Call me Stan. And you know where I am if you need me."

Impulsively, she'd hugged him, and he'd gone slightly pink. After that, every time they met on campus, he'd given her a hug and asked after Lorraine.

*~*~*~

This year, though, Stan the Man had retired to a village in the Yorkshire Dales, and Sarah wondered if they'd all got the carol service date wrong. There was nothing in the chapel apart from some wooden chairs at the front. Even the board which held hymn numbers was empty. As the motley congregation straggled in, Norman appeared to be doing running repairs to the organ, muttering darkly about the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as he did so. 

"Hello, Norman," said Sarah brightly, kissing his bristly cheek.

"Where there's smoke there's fire," he muttered cryptically, patting her arm awkwardly, and casting venomous glances towards the pulpit.

Sarah was about to ask for a translation, but there was a minor scuffle behind her.

"Hand them over."

"Fuck off!"

"I'm counting down from five …"

"Fuck … Ouch! All right, all right!"

Sarah spun around to see Ryan divesting a scowling Niall of several small objects.

"I did suggest he left the knives at home," said Jenny, rather plaintively.

Niall was still casting aspersions on Ryan's parentage as they shuffled into a pew towards the back. Sarah gazed around and saw that the sports centre brigade were in front of them. Rob Finn waved enthusiastically and brandished a hip flask at her. She grinned and shook her head. The sports lads were wont to get over-exuberant, so it was a relief to see Darren Cooper's adorable fiancee Cara there. She might look like a frail pre-Raphaelite heroine, but Sarah knew she stood no nonsense.

There was a scraping of chairs and Sarah looked up to see a group of theology students, armed with guitars, sit down at the front. They launched into a dirge-like version of Once in Royal David City, accompanied by some truly excruciating guitar playing. Cutter's observation that this lot were clearly the dregs of the gene pool was not appreciated by a proud mother in a hat resembling a UFO, three rows in front.

As they ground to a halt, the Rev Ben appeared, beaming like an American TV evangelist.

"Welcome, welcome!" 

"Good heavens, he's got far too many teeth," whispered Jenny.

"Now, take hands with the people either side of you …"

Cutter's no doubt unrepeatable observation was lost in a minor disturbance in front. Sarah gathered that Becker was refusing to hold hands with Rob Finn on the grounds he'd not washed his hands after using the toilet earlier.

"Let it out, let it all out!"

"Oh shit, not a speaking in tongues merchant," muttered Claudia.

"Cutter always sounds like he's speaking in tongues," said Sarah out of the side of her mouth, and they both collapsed in giggles, which earned them a beady stare from Lorraine.

Rob Finn farted thunderously, ostentatiously fanning around him with his hymn book and announcing loudly: "He said to let it out!" The sports centre lads were guffawing and passing judgement on his effort in the style of the Strictly Come Dancing judges. It earned him a basilisk glare from Davina Bowie, one of the sports science lecturers, and a woman with a reputation for taking students off at the knees, both on and off the pitch.

"My heart will go onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!" yodelled Darren Cooper, which encouraged his mates to join in.

"Eye-eye-eye will always lurve yewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!"

"Diddly diddly deeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Obi-wan-kenobiiiiiiiiiiii!" 

"Oh, what the fucking hell is the twat doing now?" muttered Dave Owen.

"Looks like a Hitler salute," said Sarah.

"You can cut that out, laddie," bawled Cutter. 

In front, the sports centre lads were waving to the Rev Ben and going: "Coooeeeeeeee!" 

"Reach out to touch Jesus!" exhorted Ben.

Stephen, with unexpected bad taste, said: "Show me on the doll where he touched you, little boy …" 

Sarah laughed so hard that Lorraine, who was dispensing steely glares to all and sundry, clamped a hand over her mouth. Down the front, even James Lester's rigid back radiated disapproval.

The Rev Ben beamed around at them again and held out his arms. "We're all here today to celebrate the birth of our Lord, a man who has taught us the meaning of life."

"42!" shouted someone. It sounded like Dave Owen.

Sarah tuned out and started planning a conference paper she was due to give in the new year. She suddenly became aware of much angry muttering around her.

"So how do you explain the Virgin Mary?" bawled Cutter. "I thought you lot didn't approve of sex before marriage."

"What's going on?" Sarah hissed.

Claudia had a face like thunder as she whispered back: "He's preaching about 'proper' families and relationships, and seems to be insinuating that CMU is a den of vice and iniquity."

The Rev Ben had raised his voice above the growing tide of disapproval from the congregation. "And as for the unnatural relationships that those in positions of authority seem to favour …" And he stole a glance at Lester.

Somewhere to the left, slow handclapping started. A big, square-faced chap - one of the campus cleaners, Sarah thought - yelled out: "Never mind all this bollocks, mister. Where are the carols?"

Suddenly, Miss Meredith, the school secretary from History, who was renowned for her enthusiastic organ playing, launched into We Three Kings. A grateful congregation joined in, with Rob and Co providing alternative words:

_"We three kings of Leicester Square_  
Selling ladies' underwear  
So fantastic, no elastic  
Most unsafe to wear  
Oh  
Star of wonder, star of light,  
Sat in a box of dynamite,  
Westward leading, through the ceiling  
Landed on a satellite." 

As the music died away, Lester stood up and marched to the front, fixing the Rev Ben with a gimlet stare. He stood at the pulpit and surveyed the gathering, reading his passage in a clear, authoritative voice. As he finished, a beaming Miss Meredith played Away in a Manger.

One of the medical students, who bore a worrying resemblance to Boris Johnson, was next. He managed to drop his bible, and before he could start, showed off the worst smoker's cough ever. His booming voice could have been heard in the next county, and drowned out the mutterings from beside him.

Quick as a flash, Miss Meredith started up Hark the Herald Angels Sing. The congregation were well into their stride, bellowing out the words with great gusto. The Rev Ben was looking exceptionally agitated, but he subsided as Lester leaned over and had a word with him.

Sweet little Jess Parker from Computing, looking adorable in a riot of pink, yellow, green and orange fabrics, bounced down the aisle. She read The Night Before Christmas, beaming at everyone and ignoring the twitching vicar next to her. The sports centre lads started at her, doe-eyed. They were brought back to the present by Cara clipping Darren around the ear, and all sighed in unison.

There was a rustling from the end of the row and Emily got up. She'd slipped her cloak off to reveal a gorgeous Victorian-style green velvet dress. Sarah sighed enviously, suspecting she'd look like a Christmas tree if she tried the style.

Emily nodded to Miss Meredith, who gave her a note. She then sang an accompanied solo version of the Holly and the Ivy in a flawless, clear soprano. As the final notes fell away, Sarah noticed a brief smile scoot across the expressionless features of Matt Anderson. That was the nearest to emotional that he ever got.

"Let me get past. And if you say anything, I'll fucking kneecap you!" Niall climbed over Rob and Co, issuing threats as he went. He marched to the front looking like he'd head-butt anyone who stood in his way. The Rev Ben took one look at the engineer and buried his head in his hymnbook.

It turned out that Niall had a good reading voice - strong and clear. He finished off to cheers from the sports centre contingent. He gave them the finger as he stalked back down the aisle, then remembered where he was and had the grace to look faintly abashed. Miss Meredith coughed pointedly and started playing While Shepherds Watched.

_"While shepherds washed their socks by night_  
All seated on a bank  
The angel of the Lord came down  
And taught them how to w…" 

Ryan's forefinger arrowing with unerring accuracy between Rob's shoulder blades produced a muffled squawk and solved the problem of the alternative lyrics, which had set a group of faintly tipsy Archaeology post-grads giggling loudly.

Sarah didn't know any of the readings, although she knew "because there was no room for them at the inn" was the famous one. She'd done her best, though, to sing along heartily to the carols, ignoring the glares Cutter was spreading far and wide, and trying not to giggle at the sports centre lads substituting smutty lyrics for the originals. O Come All Ye Faithful was carte blanche for the congregation to practise ear-bleeding harmonies. Cutter was heard to mutter that it sounded like a pen of pigs being castrated.

The congregation headed for the meeting room adjoining the chapel to the strains of O Little Town of Bethlehem. Those at the back were alerted to the fact that all was not well by mutterings from the advance guard.

"Rich tea biscuits …"

"Orange squash …"

"Someone's taking the piss …"

"No, that'll be the orange squash … Looks like some cheapskate's been to Iceland."

"Mingy bugger. Stan'd never have stood for this …"

“And he couldn't run a bunk-up in a brothel if that mess was anything to go by.”

"And he's a homophobic turd."

"Thank fuck for Miss Meredith!"

Sarah glanced over to where the gallant organist was accepting hugs and kisses from all-comers.

"Neatest bit of hijacking I ever saw," observed Ryan, whose face betrayed the faintest trace of a smile.

Lester, meanwhile, had taken his phone out and was having a brisk conversation with someone. He terminated the call, then rapped on a wooden table for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience tonight. If you'd like to follow me over to the refectory, Gladys is laying on traditional refreshments for us."

There was a mob-handed stampede across the campus to the refectory where the unflappable Gladys, the manager, was mulling wine and setting out mince pies.

"Gladys, you're a life-saver," said Sarah.

Gladys raised an eyebrow. "Never let it be said I can't put on a decent spread. As for that holy Joe, he's a waste of space. Never trust a man who wears white socks and loafers, that's my advice. Thinks he's the bee's knees. And I overheard him making nasty comments about the Professor and Stephen the other day. I gave him what's what, I can tell you."

"He certainly hasn't won many friends tonight," said Sarah, squirrelling the information away to tell Ryan, knowing that he would feel obliged to pass it on to Lester.

Lorraine had commandeered a large table in the far corner of the refectory. Sarah handed her a glass of wine and a plate of mince pies, and plonked herself down between Lorraine and Jenny.

"That was worse than the harvest festival," said Jenny with feeling.

"What happened then?" asked Sarah.

Jenny grimaced. "Stan, bless his cotton socks, organised it for the youngsters at the creche. It was his swansong and it was all going so well until Matt Anderson from Botany turned up with half a dozen venus flytraps. Next thing, some of the little shits were trying to feed the creche's pet baby hamsters and goldfish to them."

Sarah spluttered with laughter, and they contented themselves with dreaming up suitable fates for the ghastly Rev Ben. Being forced to stoke the furnace that Norman laboured, sweated and swore over seemed an appropriate punishment.

At that moment Norman himself appeared, weaving in and out of the tables. Sarah put out a hand and stopped him. "Norman, what did you mean about 'where there's smoke there's fire' earlier?"

Norman grinned broadly, showing a set of pristine false teeth. "I knew that bugger was a bad 'un. Caught 'im evangelising to them young 'uns in the creche t'other day. Sent 'im away with a flea in 'is ear …"

Lester glided over, resting his hand on the back of Ryan's chair. "I think we shall have to suggest to the bishop that the Rev Ben might be happier with another parish."

"Save the university money and don't replace him," said Cutter, spraying a mouthful of mince pie crumbs around.

Lester rolled his eyes and took a step back. "I don't think that's an option, Professor."

"In that case, ask for a CofE weirdy-beardy who doesn't believe in anything very much," said Claudia pragmatically.

"Or one of those hearty women vicars who can lend a hand training the hockey team," added Dave Owen.

The sports centre lads all winced in unison, having experienced the full-on nature of the women's hockey XI. Darren Cooper, rather more subtle than his colleagues, had once described them as psychopathic Amazons determined to defend their rainforest.

Norman launched into a scornful discourse on muscular Christianity. He was only diverted by Gladys summoning him to deal with the temperamental hot water machine, known to all and sundry as the fire-breathing dragon.

"Leave it with me," said Emily enigmatically. "I'll have a word in the right ears. The bishop will be most unimpressed to hear that Ben's gone off-piste with the carol service." And she wandered off with the taciturn Matt Anderson in tow, leaving a gallery of open mouths behind her.

"I know she had some impressive contacts in London, but I didn't think they extended to the Church of England hierarchy," said Jenny.

"I suspect there's a great deal we don't know about Emily," said Claudia, patting her lips delicately with a paper napkin.

"What did she mean about going off-piste?" asked Sarah.

"The CofE's very particular about carol services - they're always run to a similar format," said a passing History lecturer, eying Sarah appreciatively. Lorraine's stare caused him to hurry on his way.

Cutter guffawed. "Then you've got the little shit, Lester. Right, are we going for this infamous curry? My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

In the background, Gladys's CD of Christmas hits started up with The Pogues' Fairytale of New York. Lester arched an eyebrow at the creative 'scumbags, maggots and cheap lousy faggots' insults blasting out around the refectory.

"Right, that's official," added Cutter, as Shane MacGowan's croaks died away. "Christmas for them as wants it can start now we've heard the Pogues."

And they all trooped from the canteen to the strains of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, supplied with smutty lyrics by Rob Finn and Co:

_"We wish you a merry pissmass_  
And a nappy poo year!  
Good hidings we bring  
To you and your ring  
We wish you a merry pissmass  
And a nappy poo year!" 


End file.
